Highland Soldiers: The Enemy (23 page)

Tense silence sparked between the three men.

In the other room, Jamie pled, “I cannot work to support myself. Mari, please, I’m doing the Lord’s work.”

“Is that what it was when you ran off and left Callum to take your place?”

“I did not mean for him to.”

“You may as well have.”

“Would you rather it had been me on that ship?”

Her eyes flashed as she met his eyes squarely. “I’m not sure anymore.”

“That’s a fine thing to say to your brother.”

“‘Twas a fine thing you did—killing my husband.”

“You cannot blame me for that, Mari.”

“And what if it had been Ellen? Tell me you would not feel the same.”

“Mari, I’m sorry. Truly I am. But if God’s purpose is served—”

“I’ll hear no more of this.” She stood and started to go to the sitting room, but stopped short. She looked back. “I cannot help you. I’m sorry.”

“At least give me some money for food.”

“I will feed you, but that’s all.”

“Mari—”

“No. I’ve no money of my own, and I will not dishonor Callum by giving you his.”

“Mari, please!” He grasped her shoulders and shook her.

Duncan lunged toward him, but Hugh reached him first, swinging a punch that knocked Jamie to the floor.

“Hugh, no! He’s my brother.”

Hugh turned to her. “Mari, I will not stand here and allow him to treat you—” He stopped with his mouth open, and looked down. He touched his side and looked at his hand, red with blood.

Charlie pinned Jamie face down to the floor, while Alex forced a knife from his hand.

Hugh looked at Mari as if puzzled, then reached his bloody hand toward her and fell into her arms. Duncan helped lower Hugh to the floor.

Charlie gripped Jamie’s neck. “You damned weasel!”

Alex pulled Charlie off. “Think of Mari.”

Mari cradled Hugh in her arms. “Jamie, what have you done?”

“He’s one of them. Or have you forgotten, now that you are their whore?”

“On your feet, you wee bastard!” Duncan joined Charlie in practically lifting Jamie into the air. Duncan jabbed him in the side and swung at his jaw.

Duncan said, “I’ll take care of him, Charlie. Go see to your brother.”

Mari had already started to tear strips of cloth from her shift and wrap it around Hugh’s waist. Alex finished the job while Mari rushed to Duncan. “Stop. You’ll kill him.”

Duncan did as she asked, but gripped Jamie’s shirt and said softly, “If anything happens to Hugh, I will find you and finish this.”

Hearing this, Hugh said, “Is it bad as all that?”

Alex dismissed it with a smirk. “No. But if ye dinnae lie back, I can make it so.”

Hugh obeyed, mainly because he had no strength to do otherwise.

Duncan and Charlie hauled Jamie through the door and down onto the street. “If you were not Mari’s brother, you’d be dead now, you ken?”

“But if we see you again, best come dressed for your funeral,” added Duncan.

Jamie scowled, but ran as soon as Charlie released him.

Charlie went back upstairs and found Hugh cradled in Mari’s arms. Doing his best to hide his concern to see Hugh looking so pale, Charlie said, “Well look at you. Some lads have all the luck.”

Mari tried to smile.

Alex said, “I’ll need to have a look before I stitch him up, hen. Would you fetch me a needle and thread, and then heat up some water?”

Mari brought a pillow and gently slid it beneath Hugh’s head, and then saw to the rest.

She had just put the kettle over the fire when Hugh said, “Callum? Does this mean I’m dead?”

“No, you’re not dead, and nor am I,” Callum said, as he stood in the doorway and forced an encouraging grin. Then a movement caught his eye.

Mari had been stirring the coals, but the sound of that voice made her halt.

Callum now had a beard and strange clothes, and he wondered if she would even know him. Each weary step of his journey back to her had been driven by longing for this moment.

Mari turned slowly, reluctant to find out that she was mistaken. “Callum?”

He held out his arms. She flew to him and buried her face in his chest and sank into the feel of his body against hers. Her lips grazed his neck as Callum held her face and kissed her.

With eyes fixed on the reunion, Alex held a flask out in Duncan’s direction. With a quick glance, he said quietly, “You’ll be wanting this.”

Charlie overheard and said with a smirk, “Why? Hugh’s the one being stitched up.” He looked at Callum. “By hell, where have you been?”

“Not far from it, as it turns out.”

Duncan drank and offered the flask back to Alex, who took one look at Duncan and pushed the flask back.

Mari led Callum to a chair, while Alex began stitching up Hugh’s wound. Mari brought Callum a dram and then sat on the floor beside him. She rested her head on his knee, but looked up often to convince herself it was real.

He told of his journey, and when he had finished, Mari said, “No more talk. I’m taking you to bed.”

Charlie lifted an eyebrow.

“He needs sleep. He’s exhausted,” Mari said, as color flushed her cheeks.

“Ignore these unmannerly rogues,” Callum said, as he rose to his feet with no small effort. “I’ll deal with them later. I can see nothing’s changed,” he said over his shoulder with a smile. But despite his good spirits, he was weary and weak. He put his arm over Mari’s shoulder, and leaned on her as she held him by the waist and led him to the bedroom.

After closing the door, Callum lay on the bed, clothes and all, and reached out for her. “Come here beside me.” She pulled a quilt over Callum and slipped into bed, fitting her body against his. He drew her close and held her in the sturdy arms for which she had yearned so many nights. “Och, my Mari, I missed you.” His worn body dragged him into a deep sleep. Mari lay on her side and did not tire of watching him until she drifted into her own sleep.

*

“Mari.” Callum slid his hand under her neck and cupped her head in his palm. She slept. Brushing his lips to her ear, he spoke in a deep, quiet whisper. “So many times just the thought of you kept me alive. Mari, love, I want you so.” He pressed his lips to her neck and trailed kisses back to her ear as he whispered, “Wake up, lass.” He rolled onto her gently and slid his hand to her breast.

Mari’s scream cut through the air. Duncan burst through the door. “Mari!”

He found Mari trembling in Callum’s arms.

Callum held her shoulders and searched her face. “What is it, love?”

“I thought it was—” She stopped as her eyes drifted to Duncan. Feeling Callum’s eyes on her, her eyes darted back to him. “It was a bad dream.”

Duncan opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it as Callum enfolded Mari into his arms. It was not his place to comfort her now. He went to the window and checked to make sure no one was outside. Then he left, closing the door gently behind him.

*

As he watched the door close, Callum said, “‘Twas more than a dream.”

She pushed her hair back from her face with fingers that trembled. “I woke up and you were on top of me. I didnae know it was you.”

Callum’s eyes darkened. “And who would it be?”

Mari stared at the window in silence. When Callum inhaled to speak, she said, “Kilgour.”

“Who in hell is this Kilgour that you’d think of him before your own husband?” Anger quickly overtook his concern.

“Kilgour was the highland dragoon who shot Jamie. He raped and killed Ellen, and he tried to do likewise with me.”

Callum’s anger turned to concern. “Lass, do you still dream of that after so many months?”

“No. It was not that I dreamt of it. He was here.”

Callum gripped her shoulders. “By my sword, I will kill him.”

“He’s dead.” She told Callum the story of how he’d climbed in through the window. Before he could rape her, she’d stabbed him with Callum’s sgian dubh. Callum listened. He was quiet, but his jaw clenched. When she was finished, he sat on the edge of the bed.

She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please dinnae turn from me.”

Painful silence hung in the air as Callum tamped down the rage and the guilt that kept him from being able to think or speak. “I wasnae here to protect you.”

“I protected myself.”

“That’s not what I wanted for you.”

“No. But you’re all that I’ve wanted, and you’re home. So come back to bed and show me what you want for me now.” She put her arms about his neck, and he spun about to hold her and lower her onto the bed.

Duncan sat by the fire in the sitting room while the steady creak of the bed in the next room punctuated the gentle rain outside. He finished his drink and went out to the dark rain-soaked street.

The next morning he was on a ship bound for Barbados.

*

“Here’s some broth, lad. Try and take some.” Hugh looked at Mari, then closed his eyes. As the hours went on his face drained of color. Helplessly, they all watched over him.

Charlie brought in a doctor.

“It’s a hell of a time for Duncan to go sailing,” said Charlie.

Alex was quick to defend him. “How was he to know Hugh would take a turn for the worse? He’d already signed on.”

“And why is that?” asked Charlie.

“Charlie,” cautioned Callum, “it’s not Alex’s fault.”

Alex glared at Charlie. “I’m sorry. In spite of your high estimation of me, I cannot walk on water; nor can I guide Duncan’s decisions quite yet. He did what he felt was best. That’s all I need to know, and it is enough.”

The doctor came out of the bedroom looking somber.

“How is he?” asked Mari, rushing to him.

“He’s weak. The stab wound went deep. I’ve re-bandaged the wound. He needs rest. Keep him comfortable.”

“But he’ll get better,” said Mari, looking for confirmation.

Alex eyed the doctor, but asked nothing. He had seen too many men after battle, as had the others.

Callum walked him to the door. Before leaving, the doctor turned back and spoke softly. “You’re Highlanders, aye?”

Callum nodded.

“Catholic?”

Callum nodded, this time more slowly.

The doctor looked at Callum and said with alarming frankness, “You’d best send for a priest.”

Callum’s brow furrowed as he nodded. He closed the door and stood facing it, trying to regain control of the rising emotion and the deepening grief. He knew Mari’s touch on his arm, and he turned around, a false smile on his lips.

“What did he say?” she asked, worried.

“He’ll be back tomorrow to check on him.”

Mari nodded, but caught a glimpse of the truth in Callum’s eyes. “Will he?”

“Aye.” He put his arm about her and drew her back toward the others.

In the morning, Hugh opened his eyes and looked up at the sun shining in through the window. He lifted his head, as though he might sit up, but gave up the effort. Mari sat beside him and reached around from behind to prop him up against her.

“I’m cold, Mari.”

As she wrapped her arms around him, he asked for Charlie.

Charlie gripped his hand. “I’m here, Hugh,” he said as he clenched his jaw and fought back tears that shone in his eyes.

“Will you stay with me today?” Hugh asked him.

Alex looked on with a clenched jaw and stoic expression.

Charlie forced an engaging smile. “Aye, of course I will, Hugh.” He sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of his hand.

A faint smile formed, but faded as he gasped for air and stopped breathing.

Mari froze.

He gasped again, and once more. After that, he was silent.

“Hughie, no,” moaned Mari.

Charlie pulled his brother’s limp body into his arms and held him. A mournful sound came from deep in his chest as gently he rocked the limp body.

*

The men sat in the sitting room while Mari made tea in the kitchen.

Callum said, “Someone’s got to tell Nellie. I’ll not have her find out from a letter.”

Charlie was so lost in grief that he seemed not to have heard, but he looked up at Callum. “I cannot face her until I’ve made his murderer pay.”

Alex signaled for Charlie to lower his voice so Mari would not overhear him.

“I will go,” said Callum. “It makes sense for me to go. I’m a wanted man, so I cannot go to the funeral, and I cannot stay here for very long. And unless I leave Mari behind—which I will not do—I cannot go off to avenge Hughie’s murder. So it only makes sense that I go.”

“Aye,” said Charlie, as the others gave a nod.

“I’ll tell Nellie, and I’ll take the lass home. Mari’s been through enough.”

Hearing her name, Mari paused outside of the doorway to hear what plans they were making for her.

Alex said, “Charlie and I can take care of things here. We will find that wee son of a bitch, and we’ll give him a taste of highland justice.”

Charlie added, “And if he survives that, we’ll let the authorities put his head on a pike.”

Charlie looked up too late. Mari stood in the doorway. She had heard, and the damage was done. He met her hurt gaze with bitterness. “Hugh was my brother.”

“And Jamie is mine.”

Charlie held his tongue and looked down, not from regret for his words but out of respect for her. Hugh had done nothing to deserve the fate Jamie forced on him. But Jamie had earned every bit of what Charlie had planned for him.

Callum excused himself and caught up with Mari, who had quietly escaped to the bedroom. He drew close as she stood at the window, her gaze fixed outside. The percussive rain pelted the glass pane and darkened the sandstone walls of the buildings.

Mari said, “Will it ever stop raining? I’m so tired of rain.”

Callum circled his arms about her waist. She leaned back against his chest, and they watched rain drip down the windowpane. There was no further talk of her brother. What more could they say that would not tear them apart?

*

Mari did not protest the idea of leaving. She had known too much sadness here. As much as she loved Hugh, her presence would not be needed. Only men would attend the funeral service, and afterward she would not be a comfort. For Callum’s sake, they would treat her with respect, but every time they looked at her they would be reminded of her brother and what he had done. It was better to keep to herself until they could see her and not think of Hugh’s murder. As for Mari, as much as she understood how they must feel, her husband included, Jamie was her brother. And with that came her own feelings, which she could not express to them. Her pain might not be as bitter as theirs, but she too had loved Hugh. Although Jamie had broken her heart, she still loved him. The MacDonells knew that their every bitter word pained her. Her absence would allow them to express their grief freely without having to worry about her feelings.